


According to Tradition

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Chris, Alpha Peter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Humor, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Omega Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: Peter says the wrong thing at the wrong time, and Stiles holds a grudge.





	

“Stiles, open the car door. _Right now_.”

The omega didn't even bother looking up from his phone. His fingers tapped rhythmically on his cellphone as he played his little game, the faint music chirping out through the small crack in the window.

Chris gave another tug on the door handle. “Stiles!” he snapped. “It is eighty degrees right now. I do not have the time nor patience to deal with your shit.” He knew he should have been more suspicious of Stiles sudden willingness to help out with household chores.

Stiles sighed and slumped back in the seat, putting his feet up on the dash. Chris' eye twitched.

“It's just that,” he looked away from his cell phone and up at the infuriated alpha. “Car doors are so complicated, you know? This really seems like a job for an alpha. Omegas aren't so good at that whole 'problem solving' thing.” He made air quotes over 'problem solving.'

Chris crossed his arms. “I am going to give you one last chance to open this car door. If you don't, I'll call Peter, and when we get home we'll discuss your _punishment_.”

Stiles chuckled and with a snide smirk he said, “I'd like it.” His tone of voice might have elicited a shudder, had Chris not been dripping with his own sweat already.

“In less than half an hour you are going to run out of gas. Then you'll be stuck out here, with me, in the heat. Is that what you want?”

“Of course it's not what I want, it's just I'm-”

Chris stomped off before he could hear the rest of the sentence.

He returned to the car three minutes later holding a tub of cookie dough ice cream.

“Open the door or it melts,” he threatened, pressing the carton to the hot windshield. A trickle of the flavored dairy product was already leaking out from under the lid.

Stiles bit his lip as he contemplated. It took one minute and thirty seconds of watching the tempestuous treat stream down the container before he finally reached over and smacked the unlock button.

“Thank you!” Chris said, exasperated as he yanked open the door and threw the rest of their groceries into the back seat. The milk was probably spoiled, but at least the rest should have still been okay. He surrendered the carton to the omega, who popped off the lid and started lapping at it with his tongue.

“I'm not involved in your petty squabble with Peter, so stop including me,” he said seriously as he closed the door and put on his seat belt.

Stiles stuck his finger into the ice cream and lifted it to his lips. “But, the thing about that is-” the boy said as he licked the cream from his hand “-the only way to hurt Peter is to hurt _you_. That's just the way it is.”

“You know, that's something Peter would say.”

“Well, fuck,” said Stiles.

*

“You need to have a talk with your bratty omega,” Chris said as the man returned from his jog. Naturally, he wasn't wearing a shirt.

Peter pulled his earphones out and went to the fridge. He wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead. “Where's the milk?” he asked, moving around a tub of butter and some leftover pasta.

“In the trash; it spoiled after Stiles locked me out of the car for half an hour, along with the rest of the groceries.

Peter pursed his lips. “Well, that's his fault for being a brat then, isn't it?” He slammed the fridge door shut and wrapped his earphones around the iPod.

“No, it's your fault for baiting him.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Look, I never said _he_ was a-”

“I don't care,” said Chris. “I'm not involved in this stupid, ridiculous fight. Just please apologize and get it over with.”

“Oh c'mon,” Peter scoffed. “You can't just refute thousands of years of-”

“Not. Listening.” Chris turned away from his mate and back to the book in his hands. Normally he read in the bedroom, but Stiles had taken to playing loud music wherever he went, whenever the mood took him.

Naturally, that was when the vindictive omega chose to saunter into the room. He eyed Peter distastefully.

“Are you making dinner tonight?” Peter asked, apparently thinking more of his stomach than Stiles hurt feelings.

“Of course,” Stiles said lightly. “Sit down and I'll get it started.”

Peter took it at face value and without another word sidled into the table next to Chris. Chris started making mental plans for takeout. He flipped casually through the pages of his book while a small clattering went on behind them. About fifteen minutes later Stiles broke his concentration with a light, loving kiss to his cheek. A plate was placed down in front of him, on it was a sandwich, made of bologna, lettuce, and tomato. He looked to Peter's plate, which held a scant few slices of apple, with a generous helping of hot sauce smeared on top. The apple looked like it had been whacked rather liberally with a carving knife.

“What is this?” Peter asked, poking his 'meal' with a fork.

“Dinner,” Stiles said. “Is it not good, Peter? Sorry, thinking is hard for omegas like me. I'm sure you understand,” his eyes narrowed to slits as he spoke. “Would you like me to try again?”

Peter stood and discarded his plate in the trash. He didn't risk crawling into bed with them that night.

*

“I'm going to guess he didn't make lunch either?” Peter asked the following morning. His hair was still a messy disarray from sleeping on the sofa.

For as intelligent and collected as he was everywhere else, he was a mess when it came to domestic responsibilities. Part of being in a big family meant someone else usually did things for him, such as cooking and cleaning. He'd come to rely on Stiles for those things, and it appeared Stiles had every intention of using that against him.

“For me? Yes. For you? No, I don't think so.” Chris said with a small smirk. He pulled his usual paper bag out of the fridge and peeked inside. A nice container of salad, yogurt, and a banana lay inside.

“Don't be silly,” Stiles said, walking into the room with a little yawn. In one hand he carried a brown paper sack with 'Peter' scrawled on the side in black sharpie pen. It looked like the marker had broken through in several places where he pressed too hard.

“Of _course_ I made you lunch, Peter.” He held out the paper sack with an unsettling grin on his face.

Peter's shoulders tensed. He took the bag and weighed it cautiously as if he expected it to explode. He eyed Stiles suspiciously.

“You have a good day at work.” Stiles leaned up to kiss him sweetly on the cheek. He batted his eyelashes and stepped away to do the same to Chris.

“I'm glad to see you're in better spirits,” Peter said, stepping away. “You have a good day as well.”

From where he stood Chris could see the werewolves hackles rising in distrust.

“Ooooh, I intend too,” Stiles hummed. His grin bordered on creepy as it stretched his face.

Peter practically fled to the garage.

“Don't torture him too much,” Chris said as soon as they saw the sleek black car peeling out of the driveway.

Stiles shrugged. “The bastard gets whatever comes to him.”

“Fair enough.” Chris relented. “Just don't resort to property damage.

Stiles clicked his tongue. “You're no fun.”

*

“I'm pretty sure toothpaste is toxic, Stiles,” Peter said, dropping the paper sack onto the omegas stomach.

Stiles' eyes widened. He knocked the bag off his chest onto the floor.

“Is it?” he asked with mock bewilderment. “Well, I could have sworn toothpaste was something people ate. I mean, it says 'tooth' on it. Does that mean you don't brush your teeth with tomato paste? Oh boy, was I wrong this whole time.” Stiles shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Well, I suppose that's what happens when you're a _dull omega_. My problem-solving skills are traditionally, nonexistent.”

“You are taking this far too personally. All I said was that _in the past_ omegas were-,” Stiles crossed his arms. His eyes narrowed, “-traditionally omegas were different,” Peter amended.

“Uh huh, and what do you think they are _now_ , Peter?”  
The atmosphere was suffocating as Stiles waited for Peter to respond.

Peter tensed, and then his shoulders relaxed in defeat.

“Obviously, omegas aren't as submissive as they used to be. They have made a lot of contributions towards science and medicine, no lesser than any alpha or beta. In terms of more specific omegas - I think you're the most beautiful, clever, witty creature on earth, including alphas. No one could compare to your intelligence.” He leaned down and pecked Stiles lightly on the cheek.

“Mhm,” Stiles said. He rolled his eyes. “Nice try.”

“No, I mean it. You're amazing, and I love you.” His nose nuzzled underneath Stiles jaw, earning him a soft chuckle. “You are perfect in every way. Without you, I'd be lost in a sea of laundry and frozen foods. You make my life complete.”

Peter crawled onto the sofa and nuzzled their noses together.

Stiles chuckled and wrapped his arms around the werewolves shoulders. He let Peter's' nose dove into the space between his shoulder and throat to pepper a motley of soft kisses against his skin.

“Without you the sun might as well never rise again. You are the warmth in my day. You are the person I talk to about work, and go to movies with. Chris doesn't have near the appreciation for fine cinema as you do. I love you, my adorable, sweet, creative, intelligent, wonderful omega,” Peter whispered softly in his ear.

“If you think laying on the cheese will help,” Stiles said, drinking in the praise, “you’re right.” He leaned up and kissed Peter solidly on the cheek in forgiveness. His alpha was a stupid, callous, and immature one, but he loved him all the same. “I will resume making dinner, if only to prevent you from starving.”

“I love you, so much,” Peter reiterated, giving him a wet sloppy kiss to the cheek.

“Finally,” Chris grumbled.


End file.
